Not An Uncommon Fate
by violet.worlds
Summary: "Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12." Just the story of one of many victims. I sit down to write my paper due in two days, and this is what I get. Twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

When she woke up that morning-or was it afternoon? She slept much longer these days-a warm breeze was blowing through her window. The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly, warming the grass. It was the warmest day they'd had in District Twelve so far. The first day of spring. A single dandelion had bloomed in her scraggly front yard. She crawled out of bed and stood at the window for a few moments, relishing in the warmth she hadn't felt since they small amount of coal she'd managed to procure had run out nearly four months ago.

It took her longer than it should have to cross the small room and enter into her kitchen. She ignored the bare cabinets; she wasn't hungry anyways. Hadn't been for weeks. It was a nice change from the days of painful emptiness and pangs of hunger, although the weakness and chills she had been experiencing weren't much better. She heated water on the stove, enough for her and Rachelle and Cavar. Her two precious children, almost as skin and bones as she was, were still asleep on the lumpy cot in the bedroom.

She had given up hope of survival days ago; spring with its abundance of edible plants just wouldn't come. But now a flicker of life appeared in her dead eyes. She had spotted the dandelion, and walked outside to it as fast as her frail legs could carry her. Despite her efforts to be cautious, the hope grew and surged through her, bringing a burst of energy and maybe even happiness that she couldn't remember ever feeling. At least, not since her husband had been killed in a mining accident. A small smile appeared on her gaunt face, masking her prominent cheekbones ever so slightly.

Spring had come. She was alive. Her children were alive. Right here, right in her backyard, was a perfect dandelion, just waiting to be picked and eaten. More would crop up in the days to come. She carefully bent over to pluck it from the ground and then sat down, rolling the juicy stem between her fingers, and looking at it. The flower, she thought, was her savior. It would bring her to life. It would bring Rachelle and Cavar to life. She scooted back against the wall of her house where a ray of sun shone down. Leaning her head against the rough wooden planks, she closed her eyes and basked in the light. She had survived the winter. She had done it.


	2. Chapter 2

Later that day, when Cavar woke to find Mommy not in the house, he thought she must have gone to find food. He hadn't had food for a long time. He was hungry. But when he walked outside, he smiled. It was warm. In the yard where he and Rachelle liked to play catch with a ball of rags, Mommy was taking a nap. Cavar laughed.

"Mommy, why are you sleeping here?"

He ran over to her, but his little knees, lacking in the baby fat that should have been there, buckled and he fell down next to her. Mommy didn't wake up.

"Mommy? I'm hungry."

He shook Mommy's arm, but she still didn't wake up. Her arm felt funny. It was cool. And limp.

"Mommy?"

Cavar heard his big sister calling from inside. Rachelle was only two years older than he was.

"Mommy, the water's boiling." She must have heard Cavar talking to her. When Mommy didn't answer, she called to him.

"Cavar, where's Mommy?"

"She's outside. But she's asleep."

"Oh. That's weird." She opened the front door.

"Yeah. She feels funny, too."

Rachelle turned the corner of the house. She saw Cavar, who looked slightly worried now, shaking Mommy's arm. Then she saw Mommy. Her head had slipped down to lean on her shoulder, and she looked limp. Rachelle walked quickly, nervously, the Mommy's side and brushed her hand along Mommy's arm. Her tone changed when she spoke again.

"Cavar, let go of Mommy."

He dropped Mommy's arm and it plopped across her lap. Even though Rachelle was only two years older than him, suddenly she sounded like she was ten years older. She picked him up in her arms, struggling because he was almost as big as her and she was weak from starvation, and carried him around the corner so he couldn't see Mommy.

"Rachelle?" he asked, when he realized what was going on. "Mommy isn't asleep, is she?"

"No," his sister answered, with the heaviness no eight year old should have in their voice. "Mommy isn't asleep."

Mommy was dead.


End file.
